Demons on the Train

The train carriage rumbled, causing her luggage to slide side to side. But that was normal. The rain pattered soothingly on her window. That was also normal.

But what wasn’t normal was when the train ground to a stop, causing Ginny’s trunk to skid out from under her seat. Ginny put Quidditch Through The Ages down and looked around in confusion. They couldn’t be here already?

She stood up and looked out the window, pressing her palms against the glass. She could see large black shapes floating towards them, unlike anything she’d seen before. The temperature seemed to drop and cold mist fogged the window, making her pull her hands away and clutch them to her chest. What on earth was happening?

And then, without warning, the lights went off. Ginny could hear cries of confusion up and down the train, but she stood frozen in place, staring out the fogged-up window.

Because everything was getting colder. She felt lonely – almost as alone as in her first year, but no, she couldn’t think of that – and cold, the rain’s soothing tap-tap-tap now sounding rather menacing.

She was cold and alone and standing in the dark, and she didn’t know what was happening, but she had to get away, she had to go somewhere –

The train juddered, and Ginny heard the sound of doors opening. An eerie hiss echoed though the train. She trembled, wrapping her arms around her, feeling tears springing up in her eyes. Everything was so cold, and what was happening, she wanted it to stop.

 She knew it was stupid, but she felt as though she was five years old. She wanted to call for mum, or dad, or any of her brothers. But she couldn’t. She was alone.

Pull yourself together, Ginny, she told herself. She stayed frozen, trembling and shaking. Come on! Do something! she thought.

Ginny lowered her hands to her side and pulled out her wand. What was she meant to do? She didn’t even know what was happening. A plan. That’s what she needed, a plan. She racked her brain, and one thought surfaced from the confusion and terror: find Ron.

Okay, that was her plan. She went over to the compartment door, hesitantly slid it open and stepped into the corridor.

Almost immediately she wished she hadn’t. It was much colder out here, it was darker and scarier, but she was Ginny Weasley, she had survived Riddle – no, no thinking about that – she wasn’t about to let the cold or the darkness scare her –

That was when she saw it. The large, black floating things she’d seen outside was a few compartments down. They were much scarier face to face, even at this distance. Its tattered cloak swirled around it as it reached out a rotten hand to slide open a compartment door. Then the thing turned to her.

And she heard a voice in her head. Hello, Ginny Weasley. My name is Tom Riddle. And she saw a diary in her hands, and there was blood on her hands, and she was shaking and she felt like screaming and she had to get away.

She turned and sprinted, as fast as she could, away from it. Looking wildly over her shoulder, she saw it turning away from her and entering a new compartment, from which screams were emanating.

That was when she crashed into someone who was leaning out of their compartment, looking around. She fell to the floor and screamed, immediately crawling backwards, heart in her throat, because it was another one of those things, all shadow and darkness looming above her –

“Who’s that?” the thing spoke. Ginny looked up at it. It wasn’t one of those creatures. It was a person, another student. And their voice was familiar, she knew her.

“Who’s that?” she asked the person, standing up, trying to make out their face in the darkness.

“Ginny?” came the voice. And now Ginny recognised it – she knew she’d heard that voice before. But she wasn’t sure.

“Hermione?” she asked the person, looking tentatively at them.

“What are you doing?” the person – Hermione – said.

“I was looking for Ron – ” she said, looking into the compartment. Well, it wasn’t completely a lie.

“Come in and sit down – ” Hermione said, opening the compartment door a bit wider.

As Ginny carefully stepped in and tried to sit down, a voice cried out from the darkness.

“Not here! I’m here!” it was a voice she’d recognise anywhere. Harry Potter, or as he’d said – just Harry. She remembered her stupid celebrity crush last year and felt her cheeks heating up, which was both a bad thing and a good thing – a little warmth would be welcome right now.

But his voice also brought back memories of last year, waking up in – in that place, with him kneeling by her, covered in blood and grime. He looked just like a fairytale prince in that moment, bloody and brave – but that was the moment Ginny’s fantasy shattered. He wasn’t a prince – he was a real person, he was Harry and not Harry Potter, and there was a big difference. He was as real as the Chamber of Secrets, something supposed to be a myth. And if the Chamber wasn’t a myth, then why was he?

He'd looked so tired, so hurt, so panicked. It had felt like she’d woken up to reality – which, well, she just had – and she’d seen the truth. He was a person, not a character in a book.

And now he was here, and she was there, and it didn’t matter because she’d gotten over him. He wouldn’t like her, ever, and she didn’t care anymore (though maybe there was a tiny part of her that would always remember him like that). There were far worse things than your crush not liking you – last year had proved that.

And right now, there were far worse things too. Like the things on the train. She went over to the seat by the window – which seemed to be unoccupied – accidentally stepping on someone’s toe on the way.

“Ouch!” the person she’d trodden on yelped. This voice was new – she wasn’t exactly sure who it was, though it seemed vaguely familiar to her.

That was when another voice spoke.

“Quiet!” this voice was hoarse and tired, rough-sounding as though they hadn’t had much sleep. Ginny jumped and stared into the corner opposite her, where she could see something moving in the shadows. None of them spoke.

Then a small, flickering light filled the compartment, illuminating a tired face. The man’s clothes were patched and frayed and though he looked young, his brown hair had strands of grey too. He seemed to be holding the fire in his hands. And though his face was tired, his eyes were alert.

“Who’s he?” Ginny muttered under her breath to the person sitting next to her.

“Dunno. I’ll ask Hermione,” the voice said. Ginny recognised it as the person who’s toe she’d stepped on accidentally.

A few seconds later, he turned back to Ginny and whispered into her ear, “His name’s Lupin. Apparently he’s the new defence teacher.”

The new teacher – Lupin – got to his feet, still holding the fire. “Stay where you are,” he said as he reached for the door handle.

But something got there first.

Standing in the doorway, illuminated by Lupin’s flames, was the thing from earlier. For the first time, Ginny saw it properly close-up. It was tall and cloaked in swirling tatters of cloth. It’s face was completely hidden by a hood. She looked down at its hand and felt sick. Its hand was something of nightmares – scabbed and decayed, black and glistening, long, sharp fingers stretched out like claws. Its hand was then withdrawn, back into the folds of its billowing cloak, as it floated into the compartment. The air got colder. Ginny suppressed a whimper as she looked up at it.

And then it breathed in, a long, deep breath, as though it were trying to inhale something more than air.

The cold got worse. It was like ice was flooding through her, the cold was inside her, under her skin, and she couldn’t get it out, what was happening, she was panicking –

That was when she fell. Not physically, but mentally. She fell down, into a darker place – her memories.

Suddenly she was holding a diary in her hands and writing in it. My name is Ginny Weasley. And the diary was writing back, and she knew, she knew what was going to happen, but she couldn’t do anything, just watch the words – Hello, Ginny Weasley. My name is Tom Riddle. – form on the page in front of her, watch her hand moving curiously, forming new words, new sentences. She saw herself at Hogwarts. She saw herself writing in the diary. Hello, Tom. Tom, something strange happened today. Tom, I think I might be losing my memory. Tom, what’s happening to me?

She felt the tears running down her cheeks but she couldn’t move to wipe them away, she couldn’t do anything. And suddenly she was in the girls bathroom, and her hands were covered in thick, warm redness, and there were feathers all over her, and what has she done? It’s all her fault, it’s all her fault. She opened the Chamber, she attacked those innocent people. She saw the blood on the wall, the glassy eyes of the people she attacked. The sobs wracked her body, but she couldn’t move and she’s stuck in her head, and the fear and the terror and the helplessness was filling her up and draining her at the same time, and she wanted it – no, she needed it – to stop, but it wasn’t stopping.

She saw herself flushing the diary down the toilet, she saw Harry clutching it and she’s panicking now, because she’s back there somehow, she has to come back to the present. She saw herself throwing Harry’s things out of his trunk, tucking the diary back into her pocket.

And she saw the diary starting to glow. And she knew what would happen next, and she couldn’t stop it, she couldn’t. She saw the hazy form of a boy – black hair, dark eyes – come out of it, blurred at the edges. And her heart was beating faster than a hummingbird, she was going to explode – she couldn’t do this. He smiled at her, and she screamed, screamed for help, for something to happen, for someone to help her, but there was no one. She couldn’t talk.

And Tom Riddle took her arm and led her into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, and she tried to resist, but he was too strong, and she was too weak, and oh god, it was happening all over again.

And she was down in the Chamber of Secrets, and her knees were too weak for her to stand, and she felt herself sinking to the ground despite her best efforts. And she lay helplessly as Tom – once her dearest friend – talked to her idly about how he was going to kill her, how stupid she’d been, as every last bit of strength inside her was leached out agonisingly.

 She was shaking and crying and she couldn’t stop it but at least it would be over. She clung to that thought desperately, it’s over, it’s over, it’s over.

And it was. Ginny opened her eyes, gasping and shaking. The train was rumbling again, the lights back on. It would’ve been like nothing had happened.

If it wasn’t for Harry, lying on the floor, shaking, eyes closed. Ginny watched numbly, eyes still wide in fear and shock as Ron and Hermione brought him round. As they helped him back into his seat, she couldn’t help the small, choked sob that escaped her. It was over, she was fine.

For now. When would Tom come back to get her, when would he come back into her mind? She pushed that thought out of her mind. She had to be strong. Or at least, she had to be calm – and by that she meant not screaming and crying, like she wanted to. She wiped her tears away and looked around the compartment.

Harry met her eyes. She felt her heart jump a little in her chest, but she could barely feel it through the remaining fear and confusion. She wondered what had happened to him. If he’d felt as horrible as Ginny had felt… that must have been terrible for him.

Harry’s eyes left hers. She blinked and looked down. She curled herself up into a little ball, trying to think and trying not to think about the thing and all the bad memories, and the coldness, and there was Tom, talking to her, and no, no, no, she had to get it out of her head right now –

Nobody talked much on the rest of the ride. When the train stopped again, Ginny got up quietly and went back to her compartment to gather her stuff.

That night as she lay in bed, she couldn’t sleep at all. And when, at one in the morning, she finally drifted off, her mind had a very special nightmare in store for her.